Patrick:Don’t worry about Thanksgiving. Go to New Mexico, eat some fry bread and Hatch chiles for me, and get your neutral.
Patrick:It sounds like you need it
Shannon:Thank you
Patrick:And when you’re ready, tell me what the hell neutral is
“Yeah,” Andy said. “Maybe she’ll like Lauren more than she liked me.”
“You can’t hold that against her,” Sam said. “She’s the friendliest person I know. We did not expect to run into you two. We were on our way out and Patrick was his usual jovial self, and she wasn’t wearing any—”
“Oh shit, son,” Riley yelled. He clapped Sam on the back before rolling away from the table, laughing. “I need to meet this girl. Anyone who goes commando at an Arch Society gathering is a keeper.”
Shannon:I thought she was polite and quiet!
Patrick:She can be polite and quiet and still walk around without underwear. Not mutually exclusive
Shannon:Are you speaking from experience?
“She didn’t—no, I mean, I ripped her—fuck,” he groaned. “Never mind.”
“I’ve never had that much fun at any event put on by the Arch Society,” Matt said. “I might start attending more frequently.”
“Definitely a keeper. At the very least, she should come drinking on Black Friday,” Andy said. “We’ll see if she still hates me then.”
Shannon:She hated Andy?
Patrick:No…
Patrick:Not really
Patrick:Maybe a little
Shannon:Outstanding…but it’s worth noting you have a consult in half an hour, and after ten this morning, I’m booked straight through until Friday night with no free time to eat or pee so maybe we should move this circus along
Patrick:I saw a documentary about people who “rescue” alligators when they get into yards and pools. These guys basically lasso the alligator but it always fights and does this death roll thing. These meetings are a lot like that.
Shannon:Does that make us the alligator? Or are we the fools trying to catch the alligator?
Patrick:I haven’t figured that part out yet
Chapter Eleven
WILL
Twelve months ago
This month wasthe kind of clusterfuck only the military could manage.
First, I was pulled off a stateside training op to lead a last-minute overseas mission. I was fast-roping from an Apache helicopter when I was supposed to be meeting Shannon in Chicago for another weekend away.
She was already airborne when the orders came through, and spent two days alone in the city. A text with a picture of her middle finger positioned over her lace-clad breasts summed up her feelings about the change of plans. I shared those feelings.
When I was back on base and the mission was fully debriefed, I got her on the phone. She yelled at me about fucking with her meticulous schedule after everything she went through to get away that weekend. She was reasonably pissed and lonely, but I persuaded her to let me listen while she fingered herself. I hated this war, the military, and every inch of earth separating me from Shannon when she started panting and humming into my ear.
I capitalized on her post-orgasmic bliss to convince her that she wanted to spend Thanksgiving with me in New Mexico. There was a long pause punctuated only by her shuddering breath, and I imagined the rosy flush of her skin and the tiny beads of sweat drying on her chest. She put up her usual quantities of sass and swearing, and threatened to ditch me if I was even five minutes late.
Then, during a close-quarters hostage recovery simulation at an unmarked black ops facility, one of my guys blew a mannequin’s head off. If there was a good time to make his accuracy issues known, it was definitely before the dummies were replaced with live team members, but it sure as shit fucked up my day.
